From the Earth to the Morgue
by Cannibal Glow
Summary: I follow him back into the apartment building, staggering slightly, as I chase my prey. I want him. All it took was that little gesture of nonchalant masculinity, and now I want him. " Frerard, fragee, frank/gerard and the rest of it.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE OR THEIR ESCAPADES. THIS IS FICTION, FICTION, FICTION. DON'T GET YOUR KNICKERS IN A KNOT.**

He turns his head to me, and I lock up. My throat closes; I have to work extra hard to swallow the post-show beer I'm drinking.

"Hey, Gee. Good job tonight."

"Uh," I stammer, "you, too, Frank. But honestly, it was just like any other show we've ever done."

Frank looks all cute and indignant. "Two songs or not, we rocked that shit."

I smirk. "Plus that was only our, what, fourth gig?"

"Stop with the negativity! I was trying to stroke your ego, you know."

I grin at him. "Well, thanks."

"Don't mention it."

He walks away and I stay sitting here, sipping at my drink. I watch them all celebrate like they do, high fives and grievances and all that. I would, too, but I'm just never in the mood. I attribute this to being too tired from performances, but I know in the back of my mind that my depression hasn't gone away. No amount of pills or therapy is getting rid of it, and honestly, things are looking pretty grim. I hate to sound needy or something, but I know why I'm depressed. Sure, September Eleventh was awful, and it really triggered my depression, and I know I'm prone to it, but it's because of all my repression, especially the fact that-

"'Rardy?"

My reverie is interrupted by my brother. "Yes?"

"Wanna come back to my place? Everyone's gonna."

I think about Mikey's dodgy, shithole of an apartment. I'd much rather sit at home and drink myself to sleep. But if everyone's going… that is, if Frank's going… "Sure, why not?"

Mikey grins and claps me on the back. I finish the rest of my beer and chuck the can someplace. I stretch once I get out of my crappy little folding chair and follow Mikey and the rest out to our cars. We'd taken mine and Matt's cars to get here, and we've got to take the same ones to get back. Matt takes Frank and Ray, while I take myself, Mikey, and Bob, our sound guy.

Mikey's apartment is a little ways away, and he won't stop incessantly chattering. I tune out after thirty seconds and focus on the road. God knows I need focus right now. And Bob doesn't say or do anything. Bob's a good guy; everyone underestimates him. In a way, I think he and I are the same. We don't need to talk, we like to sit, we appreciate a good sound, and we like to drink. Like I said, good guy.

I take what seems like an entire night to parallel park and get into Mikey's place. It's dark, dirty, dingy, and the air is stagnant. He flicks on the light, kicks his shoes off, and heads to his tiny kitchen. The rest of us follow suit. Mikey tosses us a cooler each, and I see when he backs away that alcohol is all he's stocked his fridge with. I'll admit that I feel a pang of guilt; after all, I am his older brother and I should be setting an example better than the one I'm setting right now, but then I remember: I don't give a fuck. About… anything.

We're sitting on Mikey's couch, me looking at Frank, and Frank looking at me. Every so often, I or he takes a drink form our bottles, never breaking our gaze. It's nice. But it's dulled. It's like… I know I should be feeling something of substance, I understand that I should feel some sensation, some butterflies or sparks. But I'm not. I used to. When we first met, when I caught him staring at me during our first gig, but even that was dulled by my state of mind.

"You alright?" he inquires suddenly.

"Mhm. Why d'you ask?"

"Just curious. You seem a little out of it."

"I'm kind of wrecked right now, in case you didn't notice," I point out dumbly.

"I see that, but that's not what I meant. You seem… sad."

"I'm clinically depressed. You've seen my meds, in that Tupperware container…"

"Again, Gerard, not what I meant. You look like you're in some sort of pain."

So he's caught on. "Ah," I sniff. "It's nothing. Tired. My eyes hurt."

Frank laughs. "Okay, man," he brushes off as he takes a drink, "whatever you say."

I nod, but I don't want the conversation to end here. I adore getting to know Frank, because even though he's in the band, he's not quite my friend yet. We're more acquaintances, but I feel like I owe him my company because he's gotten us all our gigs so far. Plus, he's a cool kid. "Hey, I'm goin' outside for a smoke. You comin'?"

Frank nods. "Yeah, I could use one."

We head outside without saying a word. I offer him a cigarette from my pack and he takes it with a smile. He sticks it in his lip and looks at me expectantly. I take my lighter from my pocket and flick it on. I light the smoke for him and he takes a long drag. I light up and take a pull. Before I exhale, I run my hand through my hair. Wow, it's getting long. And kinda greasy. I should shower and get a damn haircut.

"So," Frank rasps after blowing the smoke away from him. I'm focused on its dancing from his perfectly shaped lips so much that I barely hear him. "what's up?"

"Not much. And you?"

"Same as you. Standing here, freezing my balls off, having a smoke."

"You didn't have to come," I say, a little bitterly.

"I wanted to. You're better company than the rest of them. That's how it goes with lead singers," says Frank.

"That's true. So, hey, while I've got you out here, why don't you tell me about yourself?"

Frank looks taken aback by my brashness, but after blinking a few times, he looks like he's gotten a handle on himself. He's probably attributing my niceness and intrigue to the alcohol.

"Hmm… what's there to tell? I'm twenty, I like Black Flag, I drink like a fish, I'm pretty damn awesome at rhythm guitar, and I'm essentially pretty boring."

"I see. And that compares to my being twenty-five, liking The Misfits, drinking like a dehydrated fish, having quite a voice, and being more boring than you."

"Nah," Frank says. "You've had five more years. There had to be something exciting in there."

"Clinical depression isn't that exciting, buddy."

Frank looks at me like he's sorry he made me say it. And so am I. I've probably wrecked my nonexistent chances with him by now. "I bet not."

I shake my head. "But I'm being a downer when I shouldn't. Probably scaring you shitless."

Frank suddenly laughs. "Takes a lot to scare me."

"Right," I reply, taking the last pull my smoke will offer and stomping on the butt. "Coming in?"

Frank inhales largely from his cigarette and stamps it out. "Sure," he says, blowing the smoke in my face and walking past me.

I follow him back into the apartment building, staggering slightly, as I chase my prey. I want him. All it took was that little gesture of nonchalant masculinity, and now I want him. If he's straight, he fucking won't be for long.

Ray notices our presence first; my guess is the rest of them are too bombed to care. "Hey! Where were you?"

"Smoking," Frank answers.

"Oh, I see. Anyone know what time it is?"

"Fucked if I-" I start to say, but I'm interrupted.

"One thirty. Why, Toro? You got someplace to be?" interrupts Frank. My stomach churns and it takes me by surprise at first. I'm not used to feeling things, let alone feeling butterflies. It's actually kind of… nice. Albeit irritating, as butterflies often are.

"Nope, just wondering. Good show tonight, by the way. Nice energy."

"Aw, thanks. But I'm never _without _energy," Frank boasts as he gets himself a beer from the mini-fridge. He spins round with two cans in his hand and lobs me one. I open it and catch the foam with my mouth before it can go anywhere. I'm a master at that.

I see that Mikey's passed out on his couch, Ray's on the floor, Bob's somewhere else and Matt is probably near Bob. We're practically alone. I feel that same flutter in my stomach as I did before. I shrug to myself, look around, and plop down on the floor where I'd been standing. I stretch my black-skinny-jean-clad legs out in front of me, then pull them up to my chest. I am nervous. I haven't been nervous in a long, long time. It's new, it's foreign, and it's annoying. It gets worse when Frank comes and sits beside me.

"To gigs and shitty apartments," Frank toasts, holding up his beer can. I touch it with mine and take a swig. Liquid courage indeed.

"Cheers."

Frank nods. There's something about him, something that makes me want to pounce on him right here. Repressed homosexuality, no doubt, but there's something more. He's got an air about him that attracts me like nothing else has ever attracted me to anyone before. I stare as his licks his chapped lips and drinks from his can. I see in his eyes some form of need that I recognize in my own before I medicate myself. Frank is addicted to some form of narcotic. I'm not observant, just experienced. I want to ask him what it is he wants in his bloodstream, but he answers my question for me.

"I gotta go to the bathroom…" he trails off and heads to the back of the place. There are a few bathroom drugs. Cocaine is the most popular, with heroin and ketamine coming in at second and third.

When Frank comes out, I know. He isn't in a k-hole, and he's not sluggish. Frank is a cokehead. He's even all strung out to confirm my theory. "Hey," he pipes.

"What's up?" I ask patronizingly.

"Not- um, not much. Do you wanna do something right now?"

"At quarter to two in the morning?"

"Yeah, man, yeah! We could like, go for a walk or something!"

I roll my eyes and follow him out of the apartment. It's a muggy August night, and so the walk is kind of refreshing. I'm glad Frank decided to get high just now; the fresh air is clearing my head. Well, as clear as a drunken haze can become.

"God, is no place _open_?!" Frank rambles. He's speaking so quickly I have to really focus on what he's saying in order to understand.

"I don't think so. Like I said, it's almost two in the morning."

"There're bars!"

"I'm drunk enough."

Frank makes an exasperated noise and stomps his foot. I grab him by the shoulders. "Okay, Frank, I know you're strung out right now, by try to rein it in? You don't know how hard it is to keep up with a cocaine addict when all you are is inebriated."

Frank looks at me all doe-eyed, like he's shocked that I figured it out. I decide to keep walking and confide in him. "I've done it all, Frank. I know what it's like. I've been there. You said I had five years on you. Well, it was only last year that I stopped snorting everything in sight. You'll notice how I'm always stuffed up. Long-standing effects from four years of cocaine, ketamine, and heroin. So I know, alright? I know."

Frank blinks. It looks like I've sobered him up. "You? Really?"

"I'm not a fucking angel, kid."

Frank sniffs and rubs his nose. "If it like, offends you, I didn't mean to-"

"No worries. That was a lot of stuff I just said. Whatever, it's no issue."

Frank grins at me and holds out his hand. "Thanks."

I shake it. "Anytime."

I don't want to let go of his hand, and make this contact end. He's warm, and soft, and his hands are calloused but comforting in a way. And he doesn't seem to be inclined to let go, either. He spins his hand to interlace our fingers, but I jerk it away. "Dude!" I exclaim. "I don't… I'm not… I don't swing that way." I wince at my lie.

Frank looks shocked at himself, not at me. "I don't even know why I… me neither."

"Should we go back?"

"Can't we stay out here for a little bit longer? Just 'til I come down a little."

I sigh and, against my better judgement, slide my hand back to its former spot and squeeze. "Just a little bit longer."


	2. Chapter 2

Ow. My fucking _head_! I check around me to see exactly where the fuck I am. On my left, there is an afro splayed out over the stained white carpet. Okay, so Ray is here. And past him his Mikey, sleeping on the couch. I look to my right and am almost nose-to-nose with a snoring Gerard. So I think, I _think_, I'm at Mikey's house. Oh, God. I don't remember fuck all after getting to the gig. This is not good. After all, I'm prone to saying and doing things I'm not proud of when I'm drunk. And the headache isn't the only thing I feel. I need coke. I reach into my pocket and get out my little baggie that I had in there to last me the night. Only… it's empty. That means… oh, no. Oh. Fucking. No. I was a rambling fucking idiot around Gerard. And I get absolutely randy when I'm high. There is no telling what I did! And since I was around Gerard, of all the fucking people in the universe, I had to be around the guy I really like while strung out and horny as fuck. Great. That's fricking fantastic.

Gerard's eyes open and suddenly are boring into mine. He smiles and mumbles, "Good morning."

I look out the window. Light is pouring into the room, and I just noticed now. "Afternoon," I correct.

"Right. How'd you sleep?"

"Like a baby. Um, hey… How bad was I last night?"

A look crosses Gerard's face, almost too quick to catch. It looks like faint happiness. Weird. "Not so very. You just, um, talked a lot…"

"I figured. You could have shut me up."

"I didn't want to. Do you remember any of what I told you?"

Uh oh. "You told me things?"

"Drug battle, four years of wasted time, depression, ring any bells?"

I shake my head. "Sorry… you could tell me again."

"Nah," he says. "It was more effective at the time. Don't sweat it."

I close my eyes again and run my hands through my hair. It's now I start to feel the cramps from sleeping on the floor. "Augh," I groan, stretching the small of my back.

"What?" Gerard asks sleepily.

"I'm a little stiff, is all."

Gerard snickers. Oh, God. I didn't mean it to be dirty… "I don't see the evidence."

"I meant my _back_. Grow up."

"Whatever," Gerard mumbles, and I hear a rustle as he rolls over and drifts off to sleep. I close my own eyes and let myself be pulled under the dark wave of sleep.

---

I come to a couple hours later with no one around. Gerard's gone from his spot beside me, Mikey's not on his couch, and Ray's gone from the floor in front of me. I'm slightly distressed because I don't have a ride, or cocaine. One or the other or both would make me feel loads better. I reach into my pocket and pull out my cell phone, find my contacts menu, and dial Mikey. He answers after a few rings. "Hello?"

"Hey, Mikey. What're you doin'?"

"I'm at Gerard's place, practicing. You?"

"I'm laying here, at your place, because you _fucking forgot me_!"

Mikey gasps. "Oh, shit! Uh, alright. I'll get Gerard to come and get you."

My heart flutters in my chest. "But he's the singer! You need him the most!" I protest.

"No, we need myself, Matt, you and Ray the most, so Gerard knows what to sing. I'll send him over. See you in a few!"

"But Mikey, you don't-" _Click_.

Shit. I'm already embarrassed with myself, because I don't even know what I did last night, and because Gerard confided in me and I can't be bothered to fucking remember. I grunt as I lift myself up off the floor and into the bathroom. I hadn't realized until now that I really, _really_ have to pee. And once I do, I try to fix myself so I look presentable. My hair is greasy as fuck, and it's all messy. I comb the front part down with my fingers and muss up the back with my hands. It looks alright, I suppose.

Soon after I hear the god-awful buzzer of a doorbell. I jog to the intercom and grumble, "Hello?"

"Frank, it's me. Get your ass down here."

That I do. I practically slam the door behind me and I run down the stairs to meet Gerard. He looks just as haggard as I do, which makes me feel better. And the smile he gives me once I burst through the door gives me this uncontrollable urge to embrace him. I want to do it so bad I'm shaking, but I decide against it, grinning back instead.

"Thanks," I say sheepishly, "You didn't have to. I could have-"

"It's no problem. They're all hung over and grouchy. I volunteered."

He volunteered. That makes me smile. "Should we get driving?"

"What's the rush? Let's forget _them_."

I grin in what I feel to be mischief. "After you," I say cordially.

"Don't mind if I do." Gerard leads the way to his car and I follow, almost too eagerly. Once I slide into the passenger seat, he asks me what I want to do.

"Uh," I stall. I ponder for a moment, and after all the extremely dirty ideas pass through my mind, I draw blanks. I don't know what he likes to do and how it compares to what I like to do. I want to get high, I want to fuck, I want to grab a coffee, and I want to- wait. Coffee. "I'm craving caffeine."

"Let's go to Starbucks, then."

I grin in contentment as Gerard revs the engine and practically red-lines it to Starbucks. "Speed freak," I mutter.

"I'm off speed. I like acceleration, though."

I chuckle to myself and lean back for the remaining four minutes until we find a place with a drive-thru. Gerard leans out the window and recites his order like he's said it a million times. "Hey, uh, can I get a venti double shot half caf espresso, medium heat, and can you double cup it?"

I hear a warbled, "Yep; will that be all?"

"Ah, no, actually." Gerard leans back in and asks me what I want.

"A black coffee…"

"You're boring," he teases and sticks his tongue out at me before telling the adolescent drive-thru girl what I want. And for the next minute or so I'm imagining all the wonderful, wonderful places that tongue could be going…

I feel warmth on my hand and I look down to discover my coffee being handed to me. I mutter my thanks and go back to my daydream. I picture him stopping the car in the middle of nowhere and pulling me by my shirt collar into him, crushing his mouth to mine. I imagine that beautiful tongue caressing my bottom lip, and me opening my mouth for its entry. I'm all to willing to submit to that tongue of his running along my neck, dipping into my collarbone and making me make odd squeaking noises. I don't mind, however, because it feels so fantastic. I try desperately to reciprocate, but Gerard won't have it. He reaches across me to recline the seat, and I lean back. He straddles me, working my shirt off painfully slowly. Once he does, it's nothing but kisses and small nips here and there until he gets to my jeans. I'm praying that he takes them off, but he doesn't. Instead, he goes back up to my mouth and continues kissing me. But his hand rubs against the fabric of my jeans right where I want him to. God, it feels good.

Unbeknownst to my consciousness, I move my hand southwards on my leg. I'm so into this daydream I don't notice the movement, just that I want to do something about the sensation between my legs. I feel a nudge on my shoulder, and I snap out of it to see a grinning Gerard.

"Dude, you weren't about to do what I think you were about to do, were you?"

"Ah," I feel my face go super-hot. "Nah. I was just moving my hand."

Gerard snickers. "Whatever. By your face, I could tell that something dirty was happening in there." He taps his head.

My face gets hotter and I look at my lap.

"Ha!" Gerard continues. "You're blushing! C'mon, who were you thinking about?"

"Nobody!" I defend. I can't very well tell him I was thinking.

"Your _giiiirlfriend_?" he teases.

"Don't have one," I admit. Nor am I attracted to them…

"And here you could have made yourself look cool and macho, but you wasted the opportunity."

I laugh at him, he laughs at me, and I look out the window. I don't recognize any of my surroundings. "Uh, Gerard?" I ask.

"Call me Gee. But what?"

"Where the fuck are we?!"

"Umm," he says, looking out the window. "The lower east side? Fuck, I don't know. You were too funny; I couldn't focus much."

I go red again. "Sorry. Can we go to Mikey's now?"

"What's your hurry?" he asks.

"I need something to distract me today, if the truth be told."

"Aren't I doing a good enough job?"

"Oh, shut up."

Gerard closes his mouth and I lose myself again in x-rated daydreams, keeping close tabs on my hand.


	3. Chapter 3

Frank and I have become pretty close friends. It's been weeks since our wayfaring car adventure, and the fumbling hand-holding experience. As a matter of fact, I think we're… he's… he's my best friend. I've never really had a best friend before. I mean, yeah, Mikey. But he's obligated to be my best friend by default.

And along with our friendship growing, my dependence on pills is lessening. I like being fully conscious. I've begun to feel things. Like whenever Frank smiles at me, there's definitely butterflies. And whenever I fall asleep, he's there. I mean, I never dream about good things. It usually only used to be nightmares and or terrors. But they've been replaced by fantastic, albeit kind of mature, dreams about him and I.

Okay, yes. Along with my feeling real things, my feelings for Frank have definitely intensified. It's beyond just thinking he's a cool kid who's kind of hot. It's like, I'm really, really fond of him. I like him. A lot. A whole lot.

And today, I am going to tell him. Well… not tell him I like him, no. But about me. My repressed homosexuality isn't so repressed these days. In fact, it's been rather close to the surface. And I think that I can trust him enough to tell him at least that I'm gay. After all, he's a pretty accepting guy. I know this because we've talked a lot, about drug abuse and familial shit. As it turns out, he's been weaning himself off cocaine after that night I saw him high. I don't understand why, though. I didn't mind seeing him like that.

My heart is racing right now, though. I'm at Frank's house (a small rented bungalow in Newark), sitting on his couch, waiting for him to come out of the bathroom. My palms have even started to sweat; oh, how cliché! At times like these, I prefer being numb. At least when you're numb, you're not nervous.

And he emerges. Frank, in his glorious, unkempt godliness. Every time I see him, it's like… it's like I fall in love. I'm not saying I'm in love, or anything, but fuck, he's incredible.

He sits beside me and I read the look of concern on his face. "Gee," he begins, "what's the matter?"

"What makes you think something's the matter?"

"You're shaking like an addict."

I pinch my eyes shut. "I- um, I just have something I need to say, is all."

Frank's concern intensifies. "Say it. You can tell me anything."

My heart, if possible, beats faster. "Promise you won't judge?"

"Of course I won't!"

I take a breath. "I don't know how to say this, exactly, but I like guys. I dunno, I felt like I was lying by omission."

I expect to be hit, or kicked out, or something like that, but Frank smiles at me. "You wanna know something?"

"Sure," I say.

"Me, too."

I'm shocked. Frank is gay, too. That means… well, that means I have a chance! A decent shot! I'm euphoric. Genuinely ecstatic. I haven't been happy like this in ages. It's brilliant! "Really?"

"Really really."

I burst out laughing. Belly-laughs at the complete perfection of the situation. It's not like he likes me or anything, but he could learn to! He and I, we could go on dates and- I'm getting ahead of myself. And I can't stop guffawing like an idiot!

"What's so funny?" asks Frank.

"You-" I take a breath, "you're gay! I was so scared for nothing!"

"Calm down, big guy."

I do try and calm myself enough for a response. "Alright, alright, I'm calm."

"Good. By the way, congrats on the coming out. Feels good, don't it?"

I nod exuberantly. I feel even less depressed. I feel abso-fucking-lutely fantastic! It's like I weigh a thousand pounds less than two minutes ago. And now a question poses itself in my mind. See, I've never really been with a guy, as depression makes you fairly asexual. But since I've found joy in life, my sex drive is back with a vengeance, and I do want to know something. "Hey, Frank?"

"Yes?"

"Um, what's it like? Being with someone?"

"You've never?"

"Never," I admit, shamefully. Shit, I could have at least felt sorry for myself while fucking someone. I can multitask. I'm good at that.

"Wow. Well, uh, what _have _you done?"

I consider that. "I'm at the level of experience of a twelve year old boy who has just left his first make out party."

"Oh. Alrighty. Um, I don't know how to really… explain it."

_Then do it, motherfucker. Do it, do it, do it. I'm here, beside you, and all it takes is a button and a zipper to get my pants undone. It's not a large amount of effort… and I want it. A lot. Fuck, I want it. I want you, Frank. And if it's right here, right now, on this couch, I'll fucking take it. _I compose myself after my reverie and look at Frank. "You don't have to talk about it…"

Frank's eyes go wide, and he blushes. I love when he blushes; he thinks it's weird and gross, but I think it's adorable. I'm also slightly terrified though, because he's gotten my point. "So," he says slowly, "you want me to…"

I nod. Frank blinks, and I see his Adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallows. He leans closer, and presses his lips to mine for an instant. It's demure, soft, and dry. I love the feeling, even if it only lasts a second. The instant I purse my lips and form them to his, he leans back shyly and looks at the floor. "Um, there's that."

I grin. "That was good."

"Yeah," he says. "It was."

"What else have you got in your arsenal?" I inquire eagerly. I'm buzzing from that petite kiss he'd just given me. My gut is aching for more, as are my hips. I'm trying to remain collected, but honestly, how collected can one be at a time like this?

Frank grins with mischief and pounces on me. Literally pounces. His arms are on my shoulders, which are pinned against the couch arm. I'm shocked. Frank's not so very outgoing around me. Not like this. He's a space-case kind of guy, which I like, but I like the pouncing and the grinding of hips just a little bit more. "I have lots," he purrs.

"Like what?"

Frank leans down and kisses me once more, but runs his tongue along my bottom lip. I open my mouth and meet his tongue with mine, exploring, wanting, teasing. He moans into my mouth and I shudder at the feeling. His hands run from my shoulders down to my wrists, clenching them tightly, and bringing them above my head. I like this; being restrained. I'm too happy to submit to Frank's eager kissing, growing more intense by the second. Just when I feel like I can't enjoy this any more, he stops. I grimace.

"Relax, Gee. There's more to it than kissing."

I grunt, and move my wrists. Well, try to. He isn't having that. "See," he continues, moving his lips to my neck, "there's this…" He kisses and gently swivels his tongue, drawing an unintentional moan from my lips. I buck my hips forward, a knee-jerk reaction. I want to grab him and pull him closer, but I can't. He's stronger than me, so all I can do is squirm.

"Stay put, would you?"

I groan in response. "Frankie, you're fucking killing me!"

"You asked for this. So just let me do what I do."

I roll my eyes and go limp. Well, all but one part of me goes limp…

Frank flicks his tongue against my ear and whispers, "_Don't move your wrists._"

He removes his hands from my arms, but even thought I want to, I don't move them. His whisper and his order makes me stay stationary. I feel his palms slip underneath me, almost lifting my up by my ass, and he gyrates his hips against mine a few times. I dig my nails into my own hand, moving my waist in time with him, throwing my head back and moaning like a whore.

I feel the pleasure abruptly stop, because Frank has. "That's enough for one day, hmm? We should save the rest for later."

"Later when?" I whine.

"Dinner and a movie come to mind."

I blink. "Did you just-"

"Ask you on a date? Yes. Yes I did. And, um, I'm kinda wishing I didn't, 'cause you didn't give me a direct answer."

"Don't be daft. I'd love to."

"Oh," Frank says. "Me, too."

He kisses the tip of my nose and nuzzles his head into the crook of my neck. I feel it's appropriate to move my hands and drape them across his back.

"I can't wait," he murmurs.

"Me either."


	4. Chapter 4

"Babe?" I call, wondering where Babe is.

"In here," he answers, from the direction of the bathroom. I follow his voice until I see him, trying to piece out his hair with an adorable frustrated expression on his face. I walk in and stand beside him, looking at our reflections. My reflection creeps its arm around his reflection, and his reflection smiles.

"Your hair looks good the way it is, Gee."

"Fuck off! Does not."

I spin him to face me, and run my hand through his hair, pulling him down to kiss me. When I pull away, I lean my nose against his and say, "Does too."

I feel heat resonating from Gerard's face. I grin at this, because he's blushing and I'm not, for once. "We should fuck before I go," I suggest, kissing his neck. "I can be fashionably late for the party."

Gerard whimpers softly, so softly nobody else would have caught it had they been in the room. This whimper turns me on. A lot. I feel a stirring in my jeans, and I hate myself for it. "Don't tease me like that," he whines.

"I'm serious!" I mumble into the soft, pale skin I have my lips against. Now I'm practically begging.

"You'll be late," he chides.

I move my hands down into his back pockets and pull him close, his crotch against mine. I want him to feel my dilemma. I can't just leave the house with this!

"Oh," Gerard breathes, realizing my problem. Then he giggles. I raise an eyebrow. "You'll have to take care of that one yourself. Besides," he says, pressing his lips to my ear and whispering the rest, "_it'd be so sweaty, and messy, and hot_…"

I groan. At this rate, soon I won't need anyone to take care of it. Just a fresh pair of boxers would do nicely.

Gerard moves his neck away from my mouth and takes my chin in his hand, pulling my face up. He closes his eyes and kisses me, but it's not a normal kiss. We exchange pecks here and there, and one of us always leads up like this, with the chin thing. After all, when you've been together three weeks, the kisses get un-awkward and more like reflexes. But this kiss in particular, it's powerful. He's sucking while he's kissing, pulling me deeper. It's like he's trying at my soul, you know? I creep my hand from his right pocket and wrap it around his waist. I don't know what he's doing, but I'm liking it. He moves his thigh inwards, separating ourselves from the waist down. I'm a little dismayed, until he starts moving his thigh up and down, up and down… I moan into his mouth and he puts a hand on my neck, like he does when he's into it. His fingers gently squeeze and unsqueeze, like I told him I enjoy. I'm confused, though. Didn't he say we _weren't_ gonna fuck?

He takes his kiss downwards, sucking on my bottom lip and biting softly. His nails are into my neck, now, and I'm going to implode with how bad I want him.

As if reading my mind, Gerard slides his hand down into my boxers, and takes a feel of my dick. This means a hand job! Fuckin' A! I lean my head back a little, but snap it back into place when Gerard flicks my other one! I yelp, but then I realize, as he pulls back, standing there with a self-satisfied smirk and crossed arms, that my hard-on isn't hard anymore. Oh, that fucker.

"I hate you-" I begin, but my voice is shaky after that ordeal, so I steady it and try again. "I hate you so much."

"No, you don't. I'm your boyfriend."

"Shut up."

Gerard smirks. "Now get your ass to that party. I'll songwrite."

"I feel bad though," I bemoan.

"Don't! Just be good, alright?" Gerard asks as he ushers me out of his house.

I shuffle to my car and take my time getting to the party. Brian's gonna be there, and he wants me to meet some people. Although this hovel of a house that's booming with bass doesn't quite hold my interest. I look for Brian, who waves me over to a corner. I make a beeline for him, not knowing anyone here. Across from him stands a mangy-looking guy with stringy black hair and a beard. He reminds me a little bit of Jesus, actually.

"Frank," Brian says, "this is Bert. He's in this band, and I've got a feeling they're gonna be huge."

I stick out my hand for Jesus- err, Bert to shake. "Hey, man. I'm Frank Iero."

"Bert McCracken. But it'd be pretty sweet if my name was Phil."

I laugh. "What's your band called, mate?"

"The Used. What about yours?"

The Used. Hmm. That's catchy enough. Easy to remember. "My Chemical Romance," I answer proudly.

"Fuck! That's good!" Bert says. Typical reaction.

"Thanks, eh. So, what exactly is there to do at this party?"

Bert leads me away from Brian and upstairs to the bathroom. He pushes open the door to release a small plume of smoke. He ushers me in through then crack he's created and follows me in. There are two shady-looking guys whom I don't know, and a hot-ish guy whom I also don't know, passing a roach around. I get it offered to me by the hot-ish guy close to the door, and I take it without thinking. I sniff it. Juicyfruit. I haven't had it in a while, so I take a pull, and hand it over to Bert.

"No offence guys," I say, exhaling, "but I did this at grade nine parties. I think I'm gonna be heading out."

Bert tugs my arm as I'm about to leave. "Dude, no. They were just passing the time."

He reaches into his pocket and produces bags. Bags I know too well for my liking. They've got cocaine in them, and I want it much more than I should. My head starts to ache and my nose twitches. "You selling?" I ask Bert.

"Who's buying?" he inquires back and raises an eyebrow. I look down at my feet and give an anxious smirk. For the moment, Gerard's past my mind. I don't think about how I've been trying to quite drugs and all, and I don't even consider how mad he's going to be when I come home all strung out. The fact that I'm basically seconds away from gratification is all I can focus on.

"Ah," he says. "Well, for you, this one's on me."

He tosses me a bag and I mutter my thanks before I open its contents and spread some of it on my thumb. I hastily snort the lot and shake my head. _Ooooohhhhhhh_. I put the other half of the tiny bag in my jeans pocket, hoping not to jostle it so I can have more. Fuck guilt, I'm too happy for guilt. This is good. This is pure. This is fantastic!

I smile at Bert as he inhales a bag himself. I don't know why I'm smiling. It makes me laugh. I reach into my back pocket and grab my smokes, because I always feel better when I'm on coke and then I smoke. I tend to like, chain-smoke when I'm high, but whatever. I can buy more. Right now, though, I want to go home. I want to red-line it to Gerard's, and fuck him where he stands. Then I want to run laps and do cartwheels. And I want to finish this cocaine, but this shit is _pure_.

I moan aloud at the buzzing sensation starting in my head. "Bert," I say, "this is amazing… are you sure I can't pay you or something?"

Bert shakes his head and laughs a high pitched cackle that I find amazing to hear. "I think I'm gonna head home, then. I've got a boyfriend to fuck."

Bert cackles again. "Good luck with that!"

"Thanks again!" I call as I sprint outside, not feeling the night cold sting my arms. I forgot my hoodie in there somewhere. Fuck. Oh, well. Less to take off later.

I shouldn't actually be driving right now, but it's like, a block away. There aren't any police stops near here, so I actually lead-foot it all the way to Gerard's place. I buzz him, and he answers, too slowly, with a worried voice. "Who's there?"

"Just me, baby! Let me up!"

The door opens and I jog to the elevator, musing how elevators take too fucking long.

I rap on the door and Gerard answers it. I pounce. "Mmph!" he cries in surprise from under my lips. I move my anxious kisses to his neck. "Where's your jacket?" he asks.

"Left it there," I murmur.

"Why?"

"Forgot it."

Gerard becomes instantly inanimate. "Look at me," he orders coldly. I pinch my eyes shut and take a breath. He fucking knows. How can he know?! I slowly raise my head and open my eyes.

Gerard sees my eyes, makes a disgusted noise in the back of his throat, and pushes me to the floor. Sitting there, I see him storm in the direction of his room. I'm starting to come down, and I need the rest of this coke for a fight. I reach into my pocket and grab the little bag, happy it hasn't been spilled. I make a line on my thumb and take it back. I wipe my hand off on my jeans and find Gerard sitting in a ball on his bed. I hang in the doorway and wait for him to talk.

"You said you would never…"

"I know," I say, struggling to speak slow enough to be understood. "It's just that it was there, and I wasn't thinking of you-"

"You're fucking right you weren't! How could you?! And then you drove- you _drove_ here, Frank!"

"It's not like being drunk," I point out weakly.

"Do I care?! Had you been caught, you would have gone to prison for god knows how long! Fuck, just looking at you makes me feel physically sick. Just… just get out of my room."

"Gerard," I whisper, defeated.

He shoots me a look and I leave to his darkened living room where I sit on his couch for a few hours, tapping my foot anxiously, staring at the wall across from me and waiting for signs of life from his room. When I'm unrewarded for my patience, I pad down the hall meekly, the cocaine having worn off for the most part, and peer into his room. He's laying there, fully clothed, eyes open, staring at the wall, not noticing my presence. I slide into bed with him and plant a kiss on his cheek. He rolls over and looks at me. I'm about to say something, but he shushes me, and presses his lips to mine. I kiss back and he becomes more fervent, clutching at the fabric of my shirt in a scramble to get it off. I help him and I work on his own shirt. Once they're both off, he rolls over on top of me and slides down to kiss my stomach and hips while he undoes my pants. I wiggle out of them once he's got them halfway down my ass, and he whips his off in a marginal amount of time. I like this part the best, actually. Just rolling about on a bed in our boxers, kissing and licking and groping and exploring. It's better than sex, because I feel like I get to know him this way. I can tell his exact mood, if he's had a good day or not, and what will happen next.

Right now, I can tell that Gerard's pissed off at me, because of the way he's hurting me slightly with his nails. He's had an alright day, except for just recently, because his mouth is slightly upturned. And what will happen next is that I'm going to roll over onto my back so he can fuck me, no questions asked. No stops along the way. Which I don't mind, either. It just hurts a little more when I'm not so riled up I'll explode. Ah, well.

Gerard gives my ribs a little nudge and gets off me to go grab condoms. The nudge means to roll over. I take the opportunity to pull one of his pillows towards me. It smells like him; the shampoo he uses. I bury my face in it and inhale as I feel Gerard's legs on either side of me and his hands pulling down my boxers. I suck in a mouthful of pillow as he enters me for the first time in a few days. I don't make any noise, and neither does he. To me, it seems inappropriate to make any noise since I've been shushed. He's not moaning my name, or any swear words, he's just… well… _panting_ is the best way to explain it. Like he's just run a mile. Although the same can be said for me.

We pant and move in sync until, after putting it off, because we always do, we come at relatively the same time. He pulls out slowly and I reach down to pull up my boxers. I prop myself up on my elbows and watch Gerard put his jeans back on. He comes over to me, kisses me briefly, and says, "I'm still mad at you."


	5. Chapter 5

**I'MSORRYI'MSORRYI'MSORRY, but a short chapter is the only thing that works here. i have a plan. ;) so, sorry. i couldn't end it anywhere else and i hate putting two points of view in one chapter.**

I'm surprised when I roll off the couch, sore as fuck. My head hurts, my eyes are swollen, my hips are sore, and now my back kills from the fall. I groan audibly and roll over onto my stomach. I recall crying last night right off the bat. That's why my head hurts and my eyes are puffy. But my hips…? _Oh_. It hits me like a rather large blunt object that my hips hurt because of a rather large blunt object and its mind of its own. I cannot in all good conscience push Frank away from me when he crawls into bed with me. And it's not like I spoke to him except at the end, and even _that_ was telling him I was mad at him, so that's acceptable… right? After all, it's appropriate to tell a person you're mad at that you're mad at them, just so they know. The nerve on that motherfucker! Actually doing cocaine after telling me he wouldn't and coming home looking for sex! I can't imagine anything more deplorable, or more disgusting. I should actually break up with him for that; if I gave up pills and drinking, then how come he should get the right to snort everything he sees? And then expect everything to be hunky-dory? It won't be! I expect a fight. And my heart will _not _melt at his presence. I, Gerard Arthur Way, will hold my ground and only approach him if he approaches me first, the fucking scum-of-the-earth that he is.

I wonder if he's still here.

I wander slowly to my room with anticipatory steps. I want to see my boyfriend snoring on my bed, despite how angry I'm supposed to be at him. And so I do. Frank's spread eagle, his head tilted to the side, his arm hanging over the bed. Even better, even cuter, he's in his boxers and nothing else. I don't think he's moved since last night. Or this morning. Or whenever it was.

I tiptoe to where Frank's head is, crouch down, and stare at him. I always used to do this to Mikey when we were kids. It would scare the shit out of him when the first thing he saw were two big eyes set in pale skin. Very vampire-like. Very creepy. Anyway, Mikey'd squeal and I'd laugh at him, and he'd sock my shoulder.

Frank's not waking up. He's snoring, though. And drooling. I take drastic measures. I jog lightly to my kitchen and reach into the cupboard under the sink until I grip a flashlight. I jog back to my original position and shine the light directly in Frank's eyes, at the same time yelling, "TRAIN!"

Frank awakes with a start, sitting straight up and putting a hand to his heart. "Fuck!"

"Mornin', asshole," I remark. "Remember last night at all?"

He squints like he does when he tries to concentrate. "Umm, I remember going to a party and meeting this guy, and then… and then we…" A look of horror slowly spreads on his previously bemused visage. "Gerard," he says slowly, "did I end up coming home all…"

"High on blow? Yes. You did," I state matter-of-factly.

He looks down at his half-nakedness. "Did we…?"

"We did. You must remember _that_."

Frank squints once more. "OH! Yeah, I remember that. You're still mad at me," he states, not a question.

I'm not mad at him anymore, actually. I saw his post-sex bedhead and stopped being angry, now basically portraying the part rather than feeling it. "Yes. I don't understand how you could do that to me, is all."

"I don't- I don't either, babe. I really wish I could take it back."

"Don't 'babe' me. And you can't take it back. Your only hope is to grovel until I eventually forgive you."

Frank looks horrified. "Grovel? Gee, baby, it was one time…"

I laugh, and Frank is bemused once more. "I'm kidding. Promise me you will never, ever, ever, ever, never, never, ever do it again, okay?"

"You have my word, babe. Oh, shit, am I allowed to 'babe' you now?"

"You can do whatever you want to me now."

He gulps. I laugh it off and get out of my crouching position in order to put some fresh clothes on. I pick a pair of grey sweat pants and a hoodie from my old art school on top of a Misfits t-shirt. I run my fingers through my hair as a means of brushing it and look at Frank expectantly. "What?" he asks.

"We have shit to do today, Frankie."

Frank scowls and gets up. "I'm gonna need a shower."

"Take one, then."

He shuffles sleepily to the bathroom and I walk to the living room and plop down on the couch. My notebook is still on the coffee table from last night. I was right in the beginning of a song when Frank stumbled in. I think this is as good of an opportunity to finish it as any.

_Hand in mine, into your icy blues, and then I say to you:_

"_We could take to the highway, with this trunk of ammunition,_

_too, I'd end my days with you in a hail of bullets." _

Hmm. I try and think how to un-cheese my feelings for Frank and make them into sweeping metaphors. After all, he's mended my heart and everything I am, so he's my current inspiration. I consider writing something about trying to let him know how I feel, but I really don't know how to tell him. That seems good. And after all the things we've been through, I'd go anywhere for him, do anything for him. He brought me out of my depression and he got me drinking less. Now I'm finally free to tell him how much I love him. Yeah, I said 'love'. I love Frank Anthony Iero. I mean, I know it's only been a couple weeks, but I feel it in my core. I never get over those ubiquitous butterflies, and the nervousness. I blush whenever I see him, and he always makes me smile uncontrollably. It's mad. I absolutely adore everything he does and is. And, as a matter of fact, I may tell him today.

_I'm trying, I'm trying to let you know just how much you mean to me._

_and after all the things we've put each other through,_

_and I would drive on to the end with you, a liquor store or two_

_keeps the gas tank full, and I feel like there's nothing left_

_to do but prove myself to you, and we'll keep it running._

"Whatcha workin' on?" Frank's voice pipes from behind the couch. I jump at the surprise and stammer out, "Ahh… nothing important."

It's no use. He sees the notebook and takes it from me. After a few seconds of reading, he looks at me and smiles. "Gerard, Gerard, Gerard. You big sap!"

I guffaw. Only Frank would decode the sappiness in my dark lyrics. "Guilty. I'm a closet romantic; what can I say?"

"You can tell me who it's about."

"Who the fuck do you _think_ it's about?"

"Meeeeeeee?" Frank asks hopefully.

"Fuck no, it isn't! It's about Ray. Isn't it obvious? The next lines are, '_I would love to touch your poofy hair, and, perhaps, down there. I wonder, after all we've been through, if the carpet matches the drapes. I fantasize about being naked with you and feeding you grapes,_'" I sing to the tune I've been imagining for my new song. Frank is doubled over in giggles. "Christ, sometimes I worry about you, babe. You're too egocentric."

"I'm telling Ray!" Frank says amidst laughter.

"Go ahead. He'll appreciate my love for him!"

Or you, Frank. God damn, I'm a dolt. Perfect opportunity for me to tell him how I feel, and I fuck it up. I suck at being in love.


End file.
